Fishbowl
by Efrizi
Summary: He is a slave to his own body. Whatever is commanded of him, he does without question. But a woman, fresh from the surface, changes everything, including Rapture itself. BigDaddyOCxOC
1. Chains

Hello! This is my first fic, hope you enjoy- it gets _dark_ at times but I also plan on adding that good fluff. Just a heads up, I don't write characters that fall head over heels in the first meeting- sorry! Imo, some time makes it more meaningful, so stick with me and it will pay off ;) Just to make it clear, our big guy below is the same model as Delta from the second game.

* * *

He doesn't know much of anything.

He doesn't recall a whole lot of his life before the darkness. Occasionally a flash of lips spreading with joy will grace his memory. If he's lucky, he'll remember the feeling of being touched. A caress against his shoulder, or the gentle pressure of a kiss against his cheek. The memories are a muted watercolor that retreat as quickly as the ocean waves, leaving him with the sensation of feeling, but no evidence to show for it.

His reality has changed. Teeth are bared, not in joy, but aggression. Hands reach out to harm and bullets rather than lips, kiss his skin. The darkness was the medium between his two realities.

The darkness made his skin turn sallow and numb and his voice to fester. The darkness put him inside of this suit, a rivet gun in his hands. It made him almost indestructible while simultaneously enslaving him. To what or to whom, he did not know. He did not know much of anything. One thing, though, that he did know for certain- he must follow his directive. He must protect.

The area- a ruinous market square- is partially submerged due to a malfunctioning airlock. Water wades about his legs as he sloshes through, the heavy suit preventing the moist touch but unable to stave off the bitter chill it carries. Ahead of him walks his directive- a rather rotund man approaching his fifties. Isaac. In this place, the man is a legend- or so he proclaims. He has a rather avid following, proclaiming him the new King of Rapture. He offers them hope in exchange for blind loyalty. Though some, Isaac calls them the Blind, do not see him as such. They call him mad, gluttonous and spoiled by power and riches. This is where _his_ job comes into play. To protect Isaac against the Blind. He does not know why, nor does he care to ask.

They emerge from the waist-deep water onto sturdy marble steps that ascend upward. Isaac tuts at his soaked woolen clothing, muttering about needing to build a bridge soon. _He_ follows dutifully.

Just beyond the market area lays a large church that has been converted into Isaac's own headquarters. Many of his followers mill about there. They call out balefully for Isaac's attention, acting like hounds wagging their tails at their master's return. He graciously waves to them all as he walks through the candle-lit halls to his office.

"Anymore donations, today?" Isaac calls out. Robert, a thin and squirrely man, hastily opens the door for Isaac, gives a wide berth for the _thing_ that follows. "Only some aspirin, a few bottles of fresh water… not much." Isaac grunts as he shoulders off his coat, throwing it on his salvaged desk. "Looks as though I'll have to hold another sermon. They're losing track of what's important around here…"

Though Isaac was an old man with no physical prowess to speak of, he was gifted with agility of the mind. With only a few minutes he was able to turn the remaining people of Rapture into his sheep, following him blindly. They give him food and water and absolute loyalty, he gives them something to look up to, some peace of mind. Isaac is their unwavering North Star in the ever changing landscape of Rapture.

Robert twitches and hastily nods his agreement. "Yes, yes. But… there is something I did not mention." Isaac plunks into his chair and begins to sift through papers scattered on his desk, offering a distracted noise of inquiry. "It's not necessarily a _donation_. It more just wandered in, sir." Isaac looks up sharply, a crude smile beginning to play at his lips. "Oh? Have you found another?" Robert chuckles and holds his wiry arms out. "What can I say? You know where to look." Isaac lifts himself from his chair hurriedly, scattering papers in his haste. "I don't know how you do it, Robert! Truly a man after my own heart." Robert beams with the praise, running a hand over his slicked back, oily hair as his grin reveals yellow teeth.

Isaac's breath is heavy as he wipes a sleeve across his sweating upper lip. He goes to a large wardrobe in the corner of the office, filled with empty wrappers and a smattering of dead insects. He rests his shoulder against it and begins to push it out of the way. It squeals against the wooden flooring, only moving an inch. Isaac grunts and snaps at _him._ He lumbers forward slowly, Robert maintaining a healthy distance as he moves. With an effortless shove the wardrobe skids across the room to bang against the opposite wall. Isaac laughs heartily as Robert gives a shocked yelp. "I don't keep him 'cause he's smart, Robert!"

"Honestly, sir… I don't think I'll ever get used to that thing."

"Nonsense. Andrew knew what he was doing when he built these things. Loyal to a fault and damn near bombproof. Stupid bastard wasted them on little girls, though. Not if I have anything to say about it. Now," he snaps hastily at Robert, gesturing to the opening in the wall that was hidden behind the wardrobe. Robert scrambles forward, grabbing a candle from Isaac's desk and fumbling a lighter from his pocket. "Is it any good?" Isaac asks as he receives the candle, pausing before he lights it. Robert looks absolutely delighted. "Best yet, if I say so myself! ... She's fresh from the surface." Isaac grunts his surprise and smacks his lips in anticipation. "You can wait outside the door. Don't let anyone disturb me." Robert hurriedly obeys, leaving Isaac and _him_ standing before the opening. Isaac flips the lighter and illumination is thrown forward.

No, he doesn't know much. And he doesn't remember a whole lot. But when Isaac lights the candle to reveal a dank, tiny room of stone, something brushes against his sleeping mind. The young woman, chained to the wall and gagged, seems so tiny in her tattered dress and stockings. He tilts his head as Isaac begins to theatrically introduce himself, crouching before her as he does. A wolf stalking a sheep. Her shriek is muffled when he reaches pudgy hands to caress her cheek.

That something in his mind whispers erratically. Something is wrong, though he knows not what. His mind hums, like someone speaking underwater. He is helpless, cannot understand it, though it rends his mind with pleas. He makes a sound, soft and low and raises a gloved hand to his helmet. "Hey!" Isaac is clapping at him. He looks down at the round man. His shirt is thrown in the corner and the woman's eyes glisten with tears in the flickering of the candle's light. "I said, move the wardrobe back."

The command pumps his muscles into action. Though his mind scream and pleads, digs its heels in, his body is helpless to obey. The wardrobe screeches across the floor, echoed by the woman's pleas as she stares desperately up at him. Those eyes were already capturing his soul, haunting him with that one look. With one last push of robotic limbs, the wardrobe falls into place and obscures the room once more. Hides her from his view.

As he moves to stand by the door, his mind gnaws and writhes, pleading against numb muscles. A maelstrom of unidentifiable thought clawing at him. He groans softly and reaches a hand once more to his helmet, a helpless gesture that does nothing to ease the chaos in his mind.

It was much less painful when he didn't know anything.


	2. Phoenix

Some warnings; gets dark in this chapter. Mentions of rape but nothing explicit, just read with caution.

This is hell. Pure and simple.

Her body aches with every movement after that _man…_ she can't even entertain the thought. Refuses to give it life in her mind. Never had she felt so dirty, so used… so full of despair. She had cried and fought to the best of her ability but in the end it wasn't enough. He'd taken her, throwing heavy fists into her stomach and face to keep her still if she got too spirited. Had left her broken and weeping. A shell. She shied away from the images.

He'd left with promises of return, what must have been hours-days?- ago. She didn't know.

She is bathed in the deepest of shadows, no light to speak of, and iron manacles bite viciously into her wrists. No matter how hard she pulls or twists, there is no slack. She reluctantly ceases her movements when blood begins to trickle down her arm. What could _she_ do, anyways? Even if she got loose… she'd seen that _thing._ A behemoth of a man stuffed into a diver's suit, just beyond the doorway. It must have been almost seven feet tall. She knew what it was the moment she saw it. A Big Daddy. She'd heard the rumors of them, up on the surface- hadn't given much stock into the idea of a hypnotized guardian of little girls. Even from what she knew of Andrew Ryan, it was a little much. But she was proven horribly wrong upon glimpsing it. What it was doing following around a fat old man was beyond her. She knew, though, that if she managed to escape her shackles, the only thing waiting for her would be death by its gloved hands.

Though… she could have sworn, that just for a moment, it had paused. When the fat man had ordered it away, it _paused._ Seemed to consider. If it was considering, it was thinking and if it was thinking, then perhaps it had emotions, something she could appeal to. Within this dark, tiny room the faint blossom of hope within her chest is blinding.

Muted voices trickle through the wall.

She awakes slowly and painfully, blinking swollen eyes in the darkness. Her arms at this point are numb, can't even move her fingers anymore, while the rest of her throbs painfully with every breath she takes.

The horrible screeching of something heavy against wood grates against her ears. She groans and bares her teeth weakly. Light slowly filters in, blinding her for a long moment.

Two figures are slowly revealed to her watering eyes. It's the squirrely man, the one who first grabbed her when she'd stupidly wandered into the church thinking she'd find help. And someone else, a stranger to her. He's plain of face, easy to forget. But the look in his eye is something she is tragically growing used to. Unrestrained greed and lust. It makes her sick to see it.

The plain man whistles appreciatively, holding a candle to better view her. "Man, you weren't kidding." "See? Now pay up, bud." Plain man reaches into his trousers and withdraws a pack of cigarettes, tossing them to Squirrely without taking his eyes from her. She bravely holds his gaze. "Feisty, huh?" He whispers.

Squirrely catches the cigs and begins to push the wardrobe back. "Alright, you got fifteen minutes. Isaac shouldn't be here for an hour at least but, just to be safe you should hurry. Knock twice when you're done." Plain Man waves him off.

"And don't bust her up too bad!" The wardrobe slides into place.

He saunters towards her, confident in his power over her shackled form. She hisses at his hand, he simply chuckles. Caresses her dirty hair and presses a thumb against her lips. "Pretty mouth on you." Disgust, like thousands of tiny bugs, crawls across her skin. She turns her head away but he reaches his free hand up and wraps it around her neck, holding her still. She is afraid. She can't do this again… she cannot. She blinks and tears cascade down her cheeks. Plain man laughs delightedly. "Here you were, acting all tough. What happened?" He grips her lip roughly then shoves his index finger into her mouth, thrusting it against her tongue.

She is scared, yes, but… she's also _fucking pissed._ She's not an item to be traded around, and for a pack of cigarettes no less. Hatred burns like an ember in her stomach until it feels as if she is breathing fire, smoke curling from her nostrils like an enraged dragon. How dare he? How dare any of them? She was not an animal. But if they treat her like one, they'll get one.

Baring her teeth, she sinks her teeth through his finger, crunching through it as easily as a carrot. He shrieks and tears away from her as she spits the finger out, blood trickling down her lips. "Oh, you stupid whore!" He stands over her, clutching his gushing stub of a finger. When he's finished whimpering, he turns on her. Cocks back a leg and lets it fly, stomping her stomach. She groans in pain, wheezing for breath as she desperately tries to get away. Adrenaline numbs her as she throws her dead weight against the bindings around her wrists. Blood trickles though she does not care, continues to twist and pull. He kicks her in the stomach again and she sees spots dance before her eyes, she's unable to continue moving. Her mouth gapes open like a fish as she fights to draw breath in, her lungs shuddering and refusing to expand. The man moves to kick her again, but by now she's had enough of that.

Snarling weakly, she hooks her leg around his own and brings him tumbling down like a bag of bricks. His head falls into her lap as he groans. "Stupid bitch," he mutters dazedly. She moves quickly, wrapping her legs around his neck and squeezing. His body tenses below her, his hands coming up and trying to pry her leg from his throat. He's struggling like a fly caught in a web. She holds on, using the manacles to her advantage as she uses them to maintain leverage on his writhing form. He punches at her thighs, uses his nails to tear at her skin, but she grits her teeth and squeezes harder. It takes a long time, his face slowly turning blue as he fights for breath. She refuses him that- air is a precious commodity here in the bottom of the sea, and is clearly wasted on him.

He gives one last weak punch against her leg then goes limp. She releases his body, sobbing harshly. With hatred, she kicks viciously at him until he's across the room and away from her. With heavy breaths and riding the wave of adrenaline, she throws herself against her bindings. Roars with her rage as she pulls, the iron digging at her mercilessly.

Finally, after the longest moment of her life, she pulls one hand through the iron slickened by her blood. Her heavy sobs are now hiccupping into watery laughter, and her next hand pulls away immediately after. She falls forward, cradling her numb arms against her stomach. They rush with pins and needles and she grits her teeth against the return of feeling. Her stomach screams at her with every breath, bruised and beaten. She breaths heavily, wiping her palm across her tear soaked face, accidentally spreading the blood seeping from her wrists across her cheeks. One more deep breath and she calms herself.

She does not have time to waste, whimpering in the light of a flickering candle. Squirrely had said the fat man would be here in an hour. She avoided thinking of what he would do if he found her loose. Would he sic that thing on her? Her legs shudder under her as she labors to her feet. She catches herself against the floor, reaching a hand out to steady herself.

She rises.

The young woman limps forward, pausing to give a good kick to the corpse, baring her teeth. She wasn't one for cursing but… "You stupid piece of shit. Was it worth it?"

At the wardrobe, she pauses to catch her breath. After composing herself, she raps trembling knuckles against the hard wood two times. The wood shrieks as it moves, and she is bathed in light.

"That was quick. You still had a few minutes…" Squirrely pauses, spotting the sprawled corpse in the cell. "The hell-" She lunges, easily overpowering his wiry frame. He falls to the floor, a resounding crack echoing as he clocks his head against the floor. His body immediately stills. Knocked out cold. She struggles to her feet and breathes a disbelieving breath… she honestly didn't expect to make it this far. No trace of the fat man, or _it…_ someone must be looking out for her from above.

She stumbles to the desk and leans heavily against it as she rifles through the drawers, searching for anything with even a semblance of a weapon. Quirks a brow upon finding a drawer full of syringes, swirling with a green effervescent liquid. She grabs a handful, tucking them into the pocket of her tattered dress. Nothing else remaining but wrappers and empty cans, to her disappointment. Not a trace of food or drink has passed her lips in the three days she's been here. She'd brought a satchel loaded with rations but surely it was gone by now, probably to the same place her camera and voice recorder is. Lost in Rapture.

The broken woman hobbles forward, limping to the door.

She opens it and leaves her prison, her personal hell.


	3. Broken Needles

_Bring that bitch back to me!_

He has no choice but to obey the man whose pudgy face is scarlet red, spittle flying from his lips as he yells his command. Isaac paces his office, running his hands through his thin strands of hair and sweating profusely. A soft dripping fills the office as blood slides down from _his_ gloves. At his feet lies Robert's mangled body. "That whore thinks she can get away from _me._ I am the _King_ of Rapture! No one can get away from me- no one!" He stops pacing to rush at his creation, "You bring her back to me, and don't bother to be gentle. Break some bones on the way back- I don't care! Just bring that bitch back to me!"

He leaves the church as quickly as the heavy metal suit allows, the occupants of Rapture scrambling out of his way in fear. Even without their sane mind, they're aware enough to know the metal suit belongs to Isaac; his unstoppable and unquestioningly loyal dog.

The water laps at his waist as he wades through, his muscles powered solely by Isaac's command. Only one thing echoes through his mind: Bring her back. Bring her back.

* * *

It takes him three long days of searching before he finds her.

He had been walking down a long hall, pensively swinging his head back and forth for any sign of the girl. As he passes the remnants of a theatre, the sound of crashing assaults his ears. Immediately he pauses, tilting his head. A feminine scream reaches his ears. He surges forward, crashing through the velvet lined door and sending it flying from its hinges.

They are on a stage that is littered with rubble. Three splicers surround the young woman, one holding a knife to her mouth and giggling madly as the other two hold her arms. She writhes violently, kicking and bucking as she tries to get away. They pause when _he_ bursts his way through, staring at him like a deer in the headlights. One of the splicers, upon taking in the sight of the heavy metal suit of the creature, immediately unhands the woman, scrambling away through a side door that bangs against the wall in his haste.

The remaining two throw the girl to the floor and step in front of her, one wielding his knife as the other cracks his knuckles then sets his fingertips alight with flame. The one with the knife giggles manically, "You wanna play, boy? Huh?" _He_ roars a fierce battle cry that rattles the walls.

"Hah! Fetch!" Balls of flame jet towers him. He ducks and evades them, squinting against the glare of the fire as he sprints towards them. Leaps onto the stage which vibrates under his weight, wood splintering beneath him. The man with fire gasps and rolls away from the enraged behemoth but the other splicer, not having the sense of his companion, lets loose a piercing shriek and leaps forward as he slashes. The blade glances off his suit, barely scratching the metal. The splicer is not given time to be surprised.

The brute's gloved hand grabs the malformed head and begins to tighten. The screams are muffled behind its palm and the pressure steadily grows immense. The shrieking ceases as the splicer's head is crushed within _his_ grasp. Blood flies and spatters against the broken stage and his metal suit.  
The fire wielder gasps and scrambles away, heading towards the door his fellow splicer had vanished through. Doesn't make it a step before one solid punch shatters his jaw and snaps his neck. His body flops to the ground, broken and cracked.

The resulting silence is deafening.

He slowly looks down to find the girl staring up at him in horror, still kneeling from where the splicers had thrown her. He begins to move to her, reaching out a hand that drips with blood. She tries to back-pedal, shrieking when he grabs a hold of her shoulder and drags her towards him. The woman cringes as blood smears across her torn dress. The very same hands that had just murdered two men were grasping her… He grips her waist and suddenly hoists her over his shoulder, her scream cut short as her stomach hits his shoulder with unforgiving force.

Once her breath returns she begins to whisper softly, "Please! Please let me go! I can't go back!" Beats her fists against his metal back. He begins to leave the dilapidated theatre, holding her writhing form tightly against him. "Please!" Her words fall on deaf ears. Even if he could understand her, only one thing controlled his mind. _Bring her back._

She continues to beg, tears stinging at her eyes, though she may as well be begging the sun not to set. After a few long minutes she lowers her head exhaustedly, resting her chin against his back. These last few days had been hell on her psyche and she was simply tired of it all. Dull eyes watch the floor slowly pass under her, wondering if she will ever see her home or her parents ever again. Shredded posters litter the ground… a ripped teddy bear is tucked within rubble… a broken syringe… she stiffens with sudden thought.

The young woman grunts softly as she wriggles against his shoulder, moving her constricted arms around until she can reach into her pocket. A shuddering gasp of hope escapes her when her fingertips brush the smooth glass of the syringes she'd taken from Isaac's desk.

She still hadn't discovered what their use is but they were her last hope of getting away from this monster. Withdraws one and holds it before her eyes, fighting back nausea from the brute's heavy, swaying gait. The neon green fluid within jostles with every movement.

He continues to hold her tightly, lumbering down the hallway. He feels her occasional movement but dismisses it. _Bring her back_. It repeats monotonously through his mind. _Bring her back. Bring her back. Bring her ba-_ … he stiffens when something sharp digs into his lower back.

The pain is instantaneous, racing through his veins and setting them on fire. The monster gives a low moan of agony, the sound akin to a whale's mournful call. His mind is melting, his veins pump battery acid. His low moaning curls into a hoarse shriek of pain. He falls heavily to his knees, his arms loosening on the girl and allowing her to fall from his shoulder. She catches herself against the floor and pushes herself up, holding the monsters faceless gaze for an eternally long moment. It gives one last wheezing whimper before falling forward limply.

He watches through half lidded eyes as the young woman stares down at his prone form. He wonders if she'll kill him now as more arcs of lightning-like pain consumes him.

Instead she takes a step away from him. And another and another until she is halfway down the hall. He watches her hasty retreat as his eyes begin to dull and darken. Just before the darkness completely overtakes him, he sees something peculiar.

The young woman, just about to turn the corner and leave his sight, pauses. Slowly turns on her heel and considers his limp form. His vision leaves him as she takes a timid step back towards him.

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Anybody out there? Would love the hear something :)


	4. Shoeshine

The young woman stands pensively over the felled monster. It's not dead, she knows that much at least. Raspy pulls of breath resonate within its helmet. She chews at her fingernail as her eyes travel down its limp form. Something tugs at her heart, a something that has gotten her into trouble ever since she was a little girl. It is the same something that led her to getting lost in the forest that bordered her childhood home… her mother had yelled at her with tears streaming down her cheeks when they found her after two days. It was the something that inspired her to leave her parent's home at fifteen years of age to travel across America, eventually stopping in New York to train under a reputable journalist. That something was curiosity, and it is still running strong through her veins.

She slowly kneels next to the monster, hesitantly reaching her fingertips towards it. Retracts her hand at the feeling of cool metal, but then rests her palm fully against it. Runs her hand along the length of its back, pausing at its helmet. What would she find there…? The metal gears of a robot? The rotting face of a human? Did she dare?

Yes, yes she did.

The metal imprints her fingers as she grips the sides of the helmet tightly and begins to rotate it. She grunts with the effort, having to throw her entire body weight to make it budge. It finally releases with a pop of pressure… she slowly unscrews the helmet from the breastplate of the diving suit. She knows one last turn will reveal whatever is below. Pauses to take a deep breath and holds it in her lungs… if it was indeed a rotting semblance of a splicer, it probably wouldn't smell too swell.

She turns her head at the last moment to watch the ground as she lifts the hefty helmet up and sets it down at its side. The woman has to steady herself for a long minute, then lifts her eyes slowly to look at the monster…

Except it isn't a monster. _It_ is a _he_ and he is neither rotting corpse nor misshapen splicer.

Though she can only see one side of his face, the other laying against the floor, she can see quite enough as shock courses through her veins. The first thing she notices is his thick and unkempt black hair, chin length, that rests against his cheeks and falls into his eyes. She reaches a trembling hand forward to gently brush the locks to the side, quickly retracting her hand as if burnt. His face is pale white, almost bleached of color. Not seeing the sun for years would do that- though he appears to be near her age…. How long had he been down here? She feels a deep sorrow at that notion… had he _ever_ seen the sun?

Deep shadows smudge below his closed eyes, as if he hasn't slept in months. A worried furrow of his brow betrays a restless sleep and disrupts his otherwise smooth face; his cheeks are hollow and gaunt above his strong, unshaven jaw. She feels a rush of embarrassment when she catches a word floating through her mind- handsome… in a starved and neglected fashion.

The thought, however, is quickly abandoned for another. He could wake at any moment, and though he appears as human as she does, he certainly doesn't behave it.

She raises to her head to look around her. A shoe store stands just behind her, neighbored by a clothing shop. Anything would do, she just needs to get him there before he awakes, or something else spots their vulnerable position. She wearily moves behind him to hook her elbows through his arms. She pulls backward. He doesn't move even an inch. She grunts and throws her entire body weight into pulling. Still, he does not move. Releases him with a sigh then cocks her hip and raises a hand to her forehead as she thinks. The rest of the suit will have to go if she wants to move him, and even then it would be a challenge. Just looking at his face and a small peak at his shoulders, she can tell he is a large man. He would have to be to lug around a metal suit like that.

She has to use all her strength to detach the heavy breastplate, sweat running down her face with the exertion. She swears the floor shakes a little when she sets it down. The gloves end in metal bars that she has to individually unscrew. The process takes forever and she wearily looks around her as she does, feeling exposed. As they finally release, she eyes the 'Z' symbol etched into the top of the gloves. Sets them down with care. Lastly the boots, which must be made of iron with the amount they weigh. She can't even lift up his leg with them attached. They come off with a lot of tugging and pulling on her part, leaving him in a leather suit overlaid with thick straps that define his broad shoulders.

The whole process had taken far too long for her taste, and she rushes as she once more hooks her arms through his own. This time she is able to drag him, though it is not an easy task. Slowly but surely she pulls him into the shoe store and over to the shoe shining station. A lot of struggling and repositioning and she is just barely able to lift him into one of the chairs. His head slumps forward onto his chest, shaggy hair falling like a curtain. Ragged breathing slowly resonates through his chest with raspy undertones that had been muffled by the helmet.

She makes sure he won't slump off the chair and make her task harder than it already is, then dashes off. Returns a few moments later, weighed down by chains and bundles of rope she'd scrounged up. She knots the ropes tightly around his arms and chains his torso to the back of the chair. Steps back to admire her work as she catches her breath.

She slowly sits down, hugging her knees to her chest and sighing softly. Eyes his obscured face with bleary eyes as she leans her chin atop her knees. It had been a long journey…

Slowly, ever so slowly, she submits to a fitful sleep filled with metal monsters transforming into men.

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Review. I'm desperate. Tell me it's good, tell me it's bad (constructively)... idc... please feed the starving writer.


	5. Obedience

It's cold, no- it's _freezing._ And something is terribly, terribly wrong. His eyes open instantly, a ragged gasp escaping him as he tumbles back into reality. When he tries to lift his arms something halts his movements with a clang. Looking down he finds cords of knotted rope pinning him to a chair but… something gives him pause. His vision is not the same… those aren't his hands, his arms. His arms are leather clad with metal gloves- these are pale and thin. What is happening?

He groans his confusion, blinking his eyes exaggeratedly as he tries to adjust his vision- everything is so much _brighter._ And he can feel coolness against his skin- he hasn't felt anything but the chafing diving suit for years. _That_ is it- his suit, it's gone.

Panic seizes his body, making him go rigid against his bindings. This isn't happening- he is not safe without his suit, he is nothing, nobody without that suit. His mind is chaos, a swirling of disjointed thought that is interrupted and fragmented. His breathing increases, the feeling of his chest rising unhindered a bizarre sensation and only adding to his panic.

As he is taking in deep gulps of air in gasping breaths a noise stirs from across from him.

He goes still instantly, all survival instinct making him quiet. Mechanically, he raises his eyes to glance between the loose strands of dark hair obscuring his vision.

It is the young woman he'd been tasked to retrieve by the old man. He recognizes her by her tattered dress and her torn stockings that reveal a peak of her toes. "Hey…" She breathes softly, lifting her hands up in a calming gesture. "You're alright… you're ok." He is unable to move, riveted by her imploring gaze. "What's your name?" Her voice is kind and soft, as if speaking to a child. It's the softest, kindest thing he's heard in years.

He tries to raise his hand upwards but is once more halted by the ropes. He gives a grunt of annoyance and begins to pull and tug against the bindings. "Hey!" His arms are trembling as he tries to release himself. "Calm down!" And he is helpless but to do so, stilling immediately at her words.

Silence follows; a leaking pipe can be heard echoing from outside the shoe store. The woman raises a brow at his immediate compliance but slides with it. "My name's Josie." She begins, moving to stand just beyond his reach. "Your name?" She asks and once more his hands strain against the rope before relaxing. He does not respond. Josie frowns softly, "Can you not speak?" Her question is not met with answer. "Can you even understand me? I'm gonna need ya to nod if you can." Moving without the helmet to obstruct him is strange but his chin lowers a fraction of an inch. "Oh! Good." She sounds surprised. "Ok… but you don't speak. Well, I need to call you something." She rests her hands against her hips and casts her gaze about, resting on the pile of his armor in the corner of the shoe store. He follows her gaze and relaxes fractionally at the sight of his suit. "On your gloves, there was a Z on them. I could call you that?" When he, obviously, doesn't respond Josie nods dutifully. "Alright," her smile is weak, faltering. "Z it is." Z watches the spreading of her lips, the peak of white teeth; how curious an expression…

"Ok," Josie allows her smile to slide and she's suddenly all business. She holds her hands behind her back in a business-like manner and raises her chin. "Now that we've introduced ourselves, I feel that we must discuss the future." He leans back in his chair and watches her avidly.

"You tried to kidnap me, to take me back to that bastard… I'm not going to let that happen." Her voice is no longer the soft lilt it had been, but rather hard and serious. It makes him sit straighter in his seat. "Now, I'm sorry for injecting you with whatever was in that vial but whatever it was… it seems to have calmed you down a bit- and for that I'm certainly not sorry for." Josie takes a deep breath and runs a trembling hand through her hair.

"I obviously cannot make it down here. I'm not strong enough to fight those _maniacs._ You know that." Z remembers the suggestive postures of the splicers that held her, the tears streaming down her cheeks… and she's so tiny. Even in his chair he is almost taller than her. No, Z concludes, she wouldn't make it longer than a week.

"But," Josie says, " _you're_ strong. I saw the way you flung those fellows around. You saved my life… if you don't take me back to that monster, I could help you. I could get you to the surface, get you help. You gotta family up there?" Does he? Z wonders but his head aches with the thought and he quickly abandons it.

Josie continues softly, "Right. You don't speak, huh? Listen closely, Z." And he does. "If I release you from that chair, you will take me to the bathyspheres. You'll be my escort, protect me from any of those _things_ as well as that monster, Isaac. And in return, I'll take you with me to the surface. We can get you fixed up, return you to your family if you've got one. How about that?" His mind stills from the rapid torrents of disjointed thought. Leave? Leave Rapture? Is that even possible? Z wonders and brightness flashes before his eyes, making his head ache. He shies away from the thought. But he is helpless to resist Josie's imploring gaze, the way she leans forward unconsciously in anticipation. Z nods jerkily as he curls his fingers into the wooden arm of the chair.

Josie's smile lights up her entire face, the brilliance hiding the bruises and scrapes that decorate her cheeks. A soft bead of moisture trails down the corner of her eye and Z tilts his head imperceptibly- what was that? She dashes it away quickly and her shoulders sag in relief. Z leans forward in his chair, the creak of the ropes making Josie lift her head. "Oh! Right, the ropes. Ok…" She begins to near but suddenly stops and looks wearily at him. "If… if you try to hurt me, or take me back to that man… I'll kill you." Josie whispers. It's an empty threat and they both know it, her small stature would be nothing but an annoyance to him if she ever tried to hurt him. But Z humors her and nods deeply his understanding. "Ok…" She nods slowly, her hands shaking softly. He stares intensely at her as she approaches him and she drops her eyes from his own, red taking over her cheeks.

She moves to his side and begins to gently untie the ropes, speaking of girl scouts and knotting classes. The noise she makes fades into the background as her scent carries to him something foreign, both bright and calming at the same time and he suddenly stills with the realization of why he has been so obedient to this tiny female. She is his new master.


	6. One-Speed Dean

The chains tumble to the ground with a sound of finality. Josie unconsciously takes several steps back, half expecting him to lunge forward and grab at her.

But he doesn't. He simply lumbers to his feet, slowly stretching to his full height. Every inch that his spine lifts makes Josie's eyes widen a bit more. He is, by far, the largest man she's ever seen. He stretches his neck and shakes his arms, presumably shaking away the numbness that the tight ropes left. Josie can relate to that, and feels a small sense of shame for inflicting the sensation on another person. But she doesn't have time for that.

"Z?" Her voice is soft, a whisper. But he turns to her immediately, eyes snapping onto her own, partially hidden behind the obsidian fall of his hair. She jumps at his abrupt attention and giggles nervously, immediately flushing. It's a bad habit that both she and her family have tried years to rid her of. If her nerves become amped up, or if her fear was revealed to be unfounded, she'd laugh it away. It has gotten her into trouble with stern teachers and bosses when, at their angered words, she'd giggle softly.

Z's head tilts the other way as she wipes the smile away with the palm of her hand and she can't help but liken him to a puppy. "Do you know where the bathyspheres are?" His gaze does not waver, and his blank face reveals nothing. She wonders if perhaps being raised in this place has left him a bit… simple in the mind. "You can nod if you do. Shake your head if not." He blinks.

"… alright. Well," She looks about her, eyeing the littered ground of trash and crumpled sheets of paper. An idea strikes her and she turns to him quickly. Her abrupt movement makes him flinch and she immediately holds her hands up.

"Hey, you're alright. I won't hurt you none." She makes sure her voice is gentle. Soft as a purring kitten. She needed him to be calm. Needed him to get her out of here. "Would you know where a map might be?" His deep brown eyes brighten near imperceptibly, his head lifting slightly. "Yes! A map! Can you lead me there? Nod if you can."

And he nods. A rush of victory floods her and she holds back pumping her fist, lest she startle him again- which is strange in its own right. What would he, a literal behemoth, have to fear of her, five foot nothing?

His eyes slide from her face to gaze steadily beyond her. She follows his gaze to find the suit where she'd left it. "Oh, you want your suit back on?" His eyes are somber as he looks at the articles. He moves past her, and she can't help but notice the amount of distance he keeps from her to do so.

He kneels over the suit and reaches his hands out, caressing the metal with trembling fingers. He hesitates, then grabs up the leather gloves with the 'Z' etched onto them, then shoves his fingers through them. He stands up and looks at her expectantly.

Josie raises her brows. He doesn't want the suit back on? Not that she can blame him. The damn thing was hard enough to drag along the ground, let alone carry upon one's shoulders. But that left him in only thread bare trousers, a white, sleeveless shirt that revealed his large, well-toned arms, and bare feet. Her mother would have fainted at the sight.

"Well, you'll need some shoes…" Josie begins to look around the rows of foot wear, dusty and cobwebbed. "You have any preference?" She asks distractedly as she habitually looks at the price tags before realizing her ridiculousness. She looks over her shoulder to find his head tilted puppy-style and she can't help the amused huff of air that leaves her. "I'll pick something out for you, then, and you can tell me whether you like 'em or not. But we haven't much time, so let's make this quick."

Josie eyes the men's business-like loafers and can't help thinking they look like her fathers. She passes over those.

When she passes over the athletic wear, she pauses. A smile grows and she picks out a large pair. "Oh! I think you'll like these! They used to be for basketball players, but some fellas really turned the fashion industry on its head with these- even James Dean hisself was seen wearing 'em!" She gushes excitedly. She carries them to him, halting a few paces from his intimidating form. "Here, put these on if ya like 'em." She hopes he knows how to- she doesn't look forward to getting close enough to put his shoes on. Z moves forward, his hand reaching for the black and white, high topped Converse that she carries, and she holds her breath. Up close, she hardly reaches his chest in height. Her head cranes back to keep contact with those steady eyes of his. If she had to choose one word to describe the man, she'd pick intense. Everything about him radiated purpose and intent, every movement calculated and measured.

He very gently takes the shoes from her, careful not to let their fingers touch, then withdraws a fair distance, and she can finally breathe again. Luckily, he bends down and begins to slip them on- looks like she won't be tying his shoe laces for him, thank goodness.

She smiles at the end result. "Well, you look like a big ol' greaser now. In fact, I'd reckon you'd even resemble Dean himself if you ever cut your hair back." She praises. His face does not change at her remark, nor give any clue that he understands her.

"Alright," she claps her hand, regretting it when he jumps, his muscles tense before releasing.

 _It had sounded like a gunshot,_ she slowly realizes, and a whole plethora of the possibility of how damaged he could be is realized by her. She is reminded of the men returning home from the Korean War. Their blank, listless stares and their fear to even sleep on mattresses. Sounds like popping car mufflers and shouting would set them off into fits of rage, or fear. What had they called it on the radio? PTSD? It wouldn't surprise her if he had it. She'd never seen so much outright violence before. Every day in Rapture was a fight for one's very survival.

If they managed to get to the surface… he'd never have a normal life. She swallows thickly. That isn't her problem. She needs to get out of here, then maybe some doctors will care for him while she goes on to tell the biggest story America- maybe even the world- has ever seen. She breathes deeply and consciously makes the decision to not make any sudden movements or noises around the giant of a man.

"Ok, Z. Lead the way to the maps, please."

* * *

Shorter than I'd have liked but I figured something is better than nothing. Thanks to y'all who reviewed, I appreciate it- kept me from abandoning this story tbh. Hope yall like the way the relationship is going- its gonna be pretty fluffy. Let me know otherwise. Ciao ;)

Love me some James Dean...


	7. Found

Z leads Josie from the shopping center into a sort of food market, lined with abandoned carts and caravans filled with long expired food. The stench of rot turns her stomach unpleasantly, and she delicately holds a hand to her nose. Z walks ahead of her, and she quietly watches the impressive slide of the muscles in his back as he walks.

He rounds a corner, disappearing from sight. Almost immediately, he steps back, reaching a hand out to halt her in her tracks. Josie makes a sound of surprise, so he cups a hand over her mouth as well. Pressed so closely, she's suddenly aware of the considerable heat pouring from him.

Disgruntled, she pulls his hand away. Her skin tingles where he'd willingly touched her for the first time. "What is it?" She whispers. If he was worried, surely she should be.

A piercing laugh answers, echoing from where Z had stepped back from. Curious, Joce creeps forward. Z reaches out a protective hand, intending to pull her back but she only peeks around the corner, so he lowers his hand.

A deteriorated man and woman laughed uproariously as they beat at a burning trash can with bars of steel. "Make it bleed!" Shrieks the woman manically. Beyond, Josie can see a rectangular sheet of paper tacked onto a brick wall. The map, and her ticket out of here.

"Hell," Josie mutters, dragging a hand through her matted hair. "What do we do?"

Of course, Z says nothing. She sits back against the wall. "We can't fight them. I don't want to partake in anymore violence. Let's just wait until they leave… ok?" Z stares at her. Josie uncomfortably pulls at a loose thread in her dress. "Ok." She answers herself. Z stands, looking down at her. "Come, sit down." He lumbers forward and does as she says almost immediately. She quirks a brow but dismisses it. She looks up at him as he sits with a huff. He's so large, even sat down as he is he towers over her. His dark eyes slide toward her and she looks away quickly, her cheeks staining red for reasons she can't imagine.

A couple of hours pass and still the deformed man and woman beat at the can, their sounds of merriment echoing. What were they made of? Aren't they exhausted? Josie doesn't have time for this…

She turns to where Z rests his head against the stone wall, his eyes lidded. "Z?" She requests his attention. Immediately, he looks to her, his head tilting. She pauses before speaking, still unused to the complete attention he gave her. "Do you think we could sneak…" She pauses. The laughter has subsided, leaving complete silence in its wake. "Oh." She murmurs, looking around the corner. The square is abandoned. She searches thoroughly for perhaps three minutes. With a wide smile, she turns to Z. "They're gone! Come!" She gets up and trots quietly through the square, winding through rotting wood and debris.

She can hear Z walk behind her, considerably quieter now that his suit is gone.

Josie can see the map come closer when a peculiar sweeping sound reaches her hearing. It all happens within the span of a breath. One moment, she is taking a step forward, the next she is pulled back with unimaginable strength as something metallic swings mere inches from where she'd been standing.

Z hauls her back, gripping the back of her dress, and tosses her behind him as the splicer giggles, righting the pipe she holds. "C'mere girly. I like that dress, real pretty! Give it to me!" Josie scrambles backwards as the woman lunges toward her, rearing back the metal pipe.

Josie gasps and falls back, but she needn't have worried.

Z catches the pipe, grabbing the woman's hand and crushing it in his grasp. Her shriek is cut short when he socks her right in the jaw, throwing her backwards. She lands against the ground, her neck bent at an odd angle.

Josie raggedly gasps, holding her chest where her heart beats a staccato rhythm. She doesn't have long to revel in her shock, though, because an arm suddenly winds itself around her throat, dragging her backwards. The male splicer.

Z turns and roars, lumbering forward towards Josie's struggling form. The man holding her hushes Z, wielding a knife to her throat. "Hush now, big guy. Your gal here is wanted, y'see, by Isaac. So go on, find yourself another squeeze. This one's taken." At the name of that awful man's name, Josie cries out. "No, please. Don't take me back to him!" The wretched man giggles and grabs Josie's chest with rough movements, palming her through her dress.

Z roars angrily, pausing the man. "Didn't you hear me, bud? Git out of here." When Z only paces like a lion in a cage, the man assesses Z, squinting at his large stature. "Oh… ooohoho, get a load of this! You're Isaac's dog, ain't ya? Out of your suit! Ha! I didn't think you'd have a face."

The man leans down and breathes into Josie's ear, his putrid breath making her nauseous. "Isaac isn't going to be too happy when he sees what you did with his dog. No, not happy at all." Z's eyes, usually void of all emotion or even thought, are darting between the two, clearly at a loss of how to handle himself.

Josie grips the man's arm and breaths deeply, her muscles tensing. The man is slowly walking them backwards, intending to take her from Z's sight. She holds the massive guardian's worried gaze then imperceptibly nods.

With speed she didn't know she possessed, she yells and kicks backwards, her heel striking giving flesh. The knife at her throat nicks her flesh shallowly as she rushes towards Z. He dashes forward, Josie ducking under his arm as he charges the man.

Z lands against the man, crushing him to the ground under his weight. The man pushes at him but he grabs his shirt and pulls him back before slamming him into the ground and dazing him. Z rears his fist back, ready to give a fatal blow. A weight halts him.

Josie hugs his arm, halting it from descending to deliver a fatality. He could easily throw her from him, or rip his arm from her, but he doesn't. He looks up at her, tilting his head. "Please," she gasps, "please, no more death. Let's just go." He holds her gaze somberly, then pulls his arm from her. He gets up slowly, looking down at the sprawling man with disdain.

Josie walks towards the broken man, grabbing the knife from where it had clattered to the floor.

"You better stay away from me!" Yells the man, "Keep that freak from me!" Josie raises a brow as he begins to struggle backwards. Z instinctively halts his retreat, placing his foot onto the man's chest and leaning his weight heavily.

The man gasps for breath as Josie walks forward, showing him the knife. "He ain't no freak," she growls, her accent tinged by the south rising with her anger.

The man gazes fearfully at her.

With the butt of the knife, she strikes his temple with all her strength. The man goes still, unconscious.

Sighing softly, she steps back. Z looks at her through his loose locks of hair, still leaning his weight against the limp body.

She smiles softly at his searching gaze. "You saved my life. Again. Thank you, Z." He only holds her gaze for a moment before quickly looking away, turning to examine the market square. She smiles softly. It seems he is uncomfortable with any form of kind emotion. Josie giggled softly. She'd have to rectify that.

"Let's go."

* * *

Which pov do yall prefer? J's or Z's? This one was kept relatively neutral, not choosing either, but I intend not to write that way again. Let me know (rvw or pm, idc) and thanks for reading ;)


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